


The Nerve to Act

by Spectrespecs_vs_Wrackspurts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29696211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spectrespecs_vs_Wrackspurts/pseuds/Spectrespecs_vs_Wrackspurts
Summary: Fred and George face their parents the morning after rescuing Harry from the Dursleys.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	The Nerve to Act

‘Mum, Dad”

Fred and George had stayed down in the kitchen after watching Harry and Ron escape up the stairs away from their still irate mother, only protected by their father who seemed less disappointed in his sons’ behavior as he was disappointed that he had not been able to witness the Ford Angelia’s first great adventure. But after a long night of flying across the skies and a longer morning spent doing chores and avoiding their mother’s pointed looks, the twins had finally found the time to fully voice the sidelong looks and silent assessments they had been making at each other since they had piled back into the car outside of Harry’s window.

Harry Potter was a prisoner in his own home.

There had been clues before - things that Fred or George or the both of them had seen that had been big bright and blaring warnings that something was wrong with the muggles. The first clue was Harry’s appearance when they met him on the train. The twins were no strangers to hand-me-downs, but at least their clothes fit them reasonably well. They sometimes received an old shirt of Bill’s that was maybe a tad too long in the sleeves, and Ron’s ankles were visible under his trousers more often than they were not. But the second hand things and hand-me-down’s of the Weasley family were different than this. Harry had been swimming in his clothing, a large belt nearly doubling around his waist to keep his pants up, his glasses taped together crookedly on his face. He looked as if he had been a child searching through their parent’s closet rather than a child being handed the clothes of a slightly older sibling. But his robes were clean and fit him perfectly, his school supplies gleamed new unlike almost anything the twins had owned. Fred had raised his eyebrows at this, George had shrugged. 

Their second clue had come at Christmas. Ron had told them that Harry had quickly signed up to stay behind, with no desire to return to the muggles for the holidays. Ron had been delighted that his friend was staying since the Weasley children themselves were going to be at Hogwarts. Ron hadn’t given thought to how odd this was, that a first year wasn’t home sick at all, that Harry didn’t want to return home for the joy of unwrapping presents with his family. When the twins had questioned him about it, Ron had simply shrugged, “Harry said he doesn’t usually get presents at Christmas from his relatives” and had left it at that. George had been dejected, Fred infuriated. The twins wrote to their mother that day, and she had delivered spectacularly in the way only their mother could. A perfectly fitting Weasley sweater, and just like that, Harry became their brother. 

Their third clue had come at the station at the end of the year. The twins pressed at the shoulders as they often did to silently communicate “pay attention” as Harry approached his family. Harry had met their mother with enthusiasm and thanks for his presents from Christmas, then had hesitated slightly before approaching his purple faced uncle. His relatives looked put together, clothes impossibly stiff compared to Harry’s ragged ones, which almost seemed even more ridiculous after seeing Harry in well-fitted robes the entire year. They also seemed disgusted at the sight of him, pinched faces that met Harry, a famous hero, with anger and fear. Hermione for one had seemed to pick up on it, she had shot Harry a bit of a shocked and weary look, but he had simply grinned at her and said something the twins hadn’t been able to hear.

The fourth, and most terrifying clue, had come from Ron himself. Ron had not heard from Harry all summer. He said Hermione had voiced much the same, that letters had been left unanswered, even when he had invited Harry to come stay with them at the Burrow. He had called the muggles Harry’s “relatives” rather than family. Told the twins that Harry’s relatives hated magic and maybe even hated Harry himself. They watched Ron struggle to voice his concerns to his parents over dinners more than once that summer, had seen the increased sense of fear in their younger brother’s eyes as they days stretched into weeks without word from Harry Potter. They had took to pranking Ron less, cheering him more, but after their father had told the family about the warning Harry got from the ministry, the twins had decided enough was enough. “There is no way he just did magic for fun, what if he had to protect himself?” That was it, that one sentence from their little brother had sealed it. They took the keys and left that night, sometimes, you just had to have enough nerve to act. 

The final clues were more a confirmation, a devastatingly sad confirmation that everything they had seen to this point, the clothes, the lack of presents at Christmas, they ugly looks from his family, Harry’s distance over the summer, had in fact been exactly what it had looked like. There were bars on his window, but no others. There were locks on his door, trapping him in. A catflap at the bottom with a bowl situated precariously near, with no cat in sight and when Harry had an owl. But these all paled in comparison to what the twins had witnessed last. They had shuffled down the stairs, picking the lock on the cupboard where Harry had told them his things were stored. That in itself didn’t seem out of place, cupboards were where you stored trunks. But, it seemed the muggles had stored other things in this particular closet. When the twins slid Harry’s trunk from the cupboard, Fred felt something soft hit his ankles. He’d kicked it back into the cupboard and they had placed the trunk quietly on the floor of the hallway to close the door, when he looked to see what it was. 

A pillow. A pillow had been dislodged by the trunk, and he had kicked back into place onto a small crib mattress on a somewhat neatly made bed at the bottom of the cupboard. Fred had frozen, looking at the mattress, trying to piece together an explanation that made sense, because a bed in the cupboard under the stairs only seemed to point to one thing. One, unthinkable, devastating thing.

“I don’t think Ron knows. I don’t think he told him.” George whispered. Fred saw the same shocked and sad look he was sure was on his own face, the twins were, after all, identical. 

“He was... they locked him -“

“- in a cupboard.”

They looked at each other, and spoke without words in the way that was natural to them, a nod, a jerk of the head, then they bounded back up the stairs, into the car, and finally into the night with Harry laughing with glee in the backseat. 

They waited until Harry and Ron had had time to escape their mother’s lecture toward their father, watching them sneak up the stairs and waiting a moment longer before speaking to their parents, They stood in front of them now, shoulder to shoulder, braced against the glare from their mother. Ron had seemed placated by the story of Dobby the house elf, that the only reason Harry had not written back and had been locked away was because of the elf's actions. While the twins had to admit that was a fascinating and complicated addition, Ron had not seen the cupboard under the stairs. 

“You can’t send him back there.” George had spoken first, out of turn, Fred expected the usual apologize first explain after, but he had to admit this seemed right as he watched his mother’s face soften slightly.

“Please. Don’t send him back to them… they… they are bad people, mum.” Fred picked up the argument immediately.

“They really were starving him, we weren’t lying” George again

“There was a bowl, by a catflap - ”

“Like if they just pushed his food in - ”

“And he said they barely fed him - ”

“And he was locked in -“

“Boys.” Their father interrupted. He looked tired but was watching them attentively.

“And there was a cupboard - “ Fred sounded haunted, but pushed on. George felt his brother press into his shoulder more firmly. This was important.

“With a bed in it.”

“And locks”

“Mum we think he - “

“Okay, boys.” Their mother this time. Her voice was firm but no longer stern, her face was devoid of anger. Her eyes were shining and a small but sad small pulled at her lips. She rose from the table and guided the twins to sit down, then bustled over to the sink, her back to them. George thought he saw her wipe at her eyes briefly before turning and presenting them with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. 

“We’re not sending him back. Of course we’re not sending him back. We were worried too. But stealing the car -“

“We’d do it again - “ Fred interrupted.

“In a heartbeat.”

“To break him out of there.”

“A cupboard, mum.” George stared down at his hot chocolate. His throat felt tight, his voice was thick. This was Harry Potter. THE Harry Potter. Famous hero, but also his friend, his teammate, a good person.

George felt himself being pulled into a hug alongside his brother. His mother pulling them tight. “We’ll give him the best summer we can.”


End file.
